


Someone To Fall Back On

by thegirlwhodidntmakesense



Category: Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I AM IN DENIAL OKAY, Original Character(s), Post-Canon Fix-It, SO MUCH FLUFF, Smut, Time Travel Fix-It, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, inspired by grandpa!chris pine, wondertrev
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-15 06:31:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11225265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwhodidntmakesense/pseuds/thegirlwhodidntmakesense
Summary: The first thing they did –right after the extensive tests and checkups to make sure that Steve was alright- was to go shopping for clothes. Steve gave her a dirty look when he saw the gaudy angel statue on top of the building entrance. Bright lights and tall buildings notwithstanding, he’d recognize the Queen of Time any day.“Selfridges? Are you kidding?”aka Diana helps Steve adjusts to the 21st century, in similar ways he introduced her to man's world years ago.





	1. Shopping for Clothes

The first thing they did –right after the extensive tests and checkups to make sure that Steve was alright- was to go shopping for clothes. Steve returned to Diana in the same things he left her in, and as overjoyed she was to have him back, she couldn’t risk him walking around dressed like German military... from 1918.

So, off they went to the department store.

The walk through the city was overwhelming, to say the least. He was worried that people would notice how out of place he looked in this setting the moment he stepped out to the streets. But in reality, no one bat an eye. Their attention was glued to the small rectangular devices in their hands, pressing the lit surface with their thumbs ( _“It’s a mobile phone,” Diana said._ ) Some of them had these wired earplugs on – _music?_ His head whipped around when he walked past a man wearing them, dead sure he heard a grand orchestra playing in there. And their clothes...

Modern-day fashion was a peculiar thing. He noticed that suits were less common; people now opted for… work clothes? Steve saw a lot of denim and he wondered if it was uniform policy for laborers, or it’s simply more practical. People wore loud writings (Steve’s eyes couldn’t help but widen at the more obscene ones) and bold images on their tops, crazy hair colors (Diana had to elbow him softly when he unconsciously stared at a lady with hair the color of cotton candy), women wearing pants and men wearing pastel. Among the flurry of chromatic shades and patterns, Steve Trevor –clad in a black coat, courtesy of Bruce, and his stolen grey army attire, was hardly a distracting sight.

London was nothing like he remembered –barely. His feet remembered the way –he knew his way around Oxford Street, but his eyes failed him. He recognized some of the buildings –they’d been there long before him and managed to hold up another hundred years, but the shops and the signs were unlike anything he’d ever seen. They were all so bright and sleek and luxurious and strange and _what the hell is a pho?_

“Are you okay?” Diana asked, her voice rang clear among the muddles of his thought and noises of London traffic. _Well, this place certainly got louder._

“Yeah. I’m fine, I just –” He shook it off, but halted.

Steve gave her a dirty look when he saw the gaudy angel statue on top of the building entrance. Bright lights and tall buildings notwithstanding, he’d recognize the Queen of Time any day.

“Selfridges? Are you kidding?” He laughed, half in disbelief and half in amusement.

“Well, we need to get you some clothes, so here we are!” Diana’s grin grew bigger and bigger as she tried to reason with him.

“How the tables have turned…” he shook his head, resisting the urge to smile with her.

Diana motioned him to follow towards the infamous revolving door. Steve found himself watching her, almost expecting the same way she lunged at the door, sword and shield in hand. But this Diana was different. Even in her impossible high heels, she walked through the entrance with assured steps and refined grace about her. Diana appeared to blend in more seamlessly than Steve ever did. But, then again, she had about about a century worth of experience more than him, so he supposed it made sense.

He couldn’t resist to poke fun at her. “I see you finally conquered the doors,” he whispered as he caught up to her.

“I had a lot of practice.” Diana quipped without missing a beat, eliciting a low chuckle from him.

Steve’s anxiety dissipated significantly as Diana explained that men’s fashion didn’t evolve as drastically as the women’s. He gladly took Diana’s suggestions and even picked out a few items that he saw people wore in the streets.

Diana was sitting in one of those plush lounge sofas, thumbs running through her ‘mobile phone,’ when Steve emerged from the fitting room. He was wearing a midnight blue sweater over a white shirt, fitted khakis, and a beanie hat.

“What do you think?” He asked, awaiting her appraisal.

She looked up just as he shrugged on a leather jacket similar to what he wore in the war. A dazed paused, and then, “Wow.”

“Well?” He turned around before her, adjusting the floppy hat on his head.

“Like a true 21st century man,” she beamed.

He released a relieved breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He'd hate to make an idiot out of himself in front of these... future people.

“Although!” she suddenly exclaimed, springing out of her seat.

Steve watched curiously as she went towards the eyewear section. Her fingers ran just inches over the columns of glasses, tracing down and up and along the sides; _no, not this one, not this one either, this doesn’t suit him…_ _Ha!_  He swore he could see the lightbulb over her head when she picked up a pair and turned around, walking towards him with a victorious look on her features.

“There’s just one more thing…” she mused as she put the glasses on the bridge of his nose. With a _boop_ , she declared, “There.”

“Spectacles? Really, Diana?” he deadpanned, which only made her laugh. “This is just one big payback to you, isn’t it?”

“I’m simply returning the favor,” she shrugged, taking his face in her hand.

“Well, how do I look?” Steve asked again as he straightened his jacket.

Diana took a step back, taking a good look from head to toe. Then, fondly, she said, “Like a hipster.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll… take that as a compliment?”

There was a tinge of playfulness in her eyes, but her tone was excruciatingly dubious when she said, “Take it however you want,” as she wrapped a knitted scarf around his neck and walked away.

 

_(Days later, after being introduced to the basic concept of Internet, Steve went to search what ‘hipster’ meant on Google._

_He still couldn’t tell whether it was a compliment or not.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! If you're reading this, hopefully you'll have finished reading the thing, for which I THANK YOU SO MUCH! I am in love with/obsessed by/made devastated by this movie. Diana and Steve are the most precious things (and so are Chris and Gal irl! goshhhh!) and I love them with all my heart, and I would like to share this abundance of love with you guys. I'm planning to write three more chapters (think of three other things Steve introduced Diana to *wink wink*). Drop me a comment, whether to talk about the fic or just to spaz out about this otp; it would totally make my day! <3


	2. Ice Cream

Steve’s adjustment to the 21st century civilian life had been… interesting. Modern technology was a mind-boggling advancement, but he was a fast learner. Granted, his capability with computers and its portable forms only went so far. But he had help most of the time, and in a worst-case scenario, he'd trod onto Google (which was a blessing.) He was catching up to the era faster than he could imagine with a stack of books and news clippings at the library. He now knew how to use Diana’s coffeemaker in the apartment.

Kind of.

He was getting the hang of it. Every morning, he would take the Metro to go to work at this small, family-run bookstore on the Left Bank of Paris. He would sort out the books, catalogue them, do inventories, man the cash registry, and occasionally feed the resident cat. The owner, Sylvia, was a lovely old lady, an American who had lived in France for half of her life, who was gracious and patient enough to hire him despite his imperfect French. Her grandson Alex, a soft-spoken man with a full beard and long hair tied into a bun on top of his head ( _another one of those ‘hipster’ trends,_ he found), helped around with the computer-related stuff.

It sounded mundane, but Steve welcomed the low-stress environment. The people coming in and out were always interesting, he loved all the travel stories, and on slow days, he could catch up on the readings he'd miss while he was… away. And he had _a lot_ to catch up on. He would read a book on the ride home (this week was Hemingway, and George Orwell before that), or put on those wired earplugs and listen to some music (Alex recently introduced him to Spotify and hooked him up with an extensive list of recommendations. Steve was currently obsessed with Ray Charles.)

And on a lovely evening like this, he would take a leisurely stroll along the Seine and explore the vast collections of the Louvre while he waited for Diana to get off of work. He’d grown to enjoy learning about ancient history, too. It gave him a sense of comfort that he was still discovering new things about things he could've found out in his time; he wasn't behind. Humankind was simply too complex to figure out in one lifetime.

Steve was staring at the group of people gathering in front of Venus de Milo, crowding to take a picture with their mobile phones. Suddenly a hand softly grazed the small of his back.

“Hello, Steve Trevor,” the unmistakable voice greeted him with an audible hint of smile.

He turned around to face her, and there she was. Her face, either worn out from the weight of the world or simply a long day at work he had no idea, lit up at the eye contact. Her arms –the very ones capable of lifting an honest-to-God truck over her head to take down a bunch of German soldiers- delicately wrapped around his waist. Her hand came up to his cheek, thumb running in circles. He basked in the soft scent of her perfume, the sharp smell of her nail polish –a lovely shade of plum, and the feel of her finger rasping against his stubble. Who was he to resist _that_?

“Good evening, Diana,” he murmured, low enough for their ears only. With a kiss hello, he continued, “Princess of Themyscira,” another kiss on the left corner of her lips, “Daughter of Hippolyta,” and on the other side, “Queen of the Amazons.” finally, on the tip of her nose.

Diana chuckled. “I have not addressed myself that way in a long time.”

“How else do you introduce yourself, then?”

“Diana Prince.” she answered, brief and straightforward.

He pursed his lips, looking way too comical to be serious. “That's a pretty nice last name there. How did you come up with that?”

Diana didn't miss this. She put on a face as well. “You know, I can't remember. I think it was some random person and it kind of sticks. It’s too much paperwork to change now.”

Steve cracked up; he didn't know which one was more hysterical, Diana’s jokes or the fact that she'd acquire such… _human_ sense of humor. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to that.

They walked hand-in-hand towards the Metro station, huddled into each other as they animatedly talking about their days. Well, mostly Steve –the novelty of being a man out of time had yet to settle in. There was _always_ a new fascination, and he approached it with a childlike curiosity Diana had only seen under the Themyscirian halls when he inquired her about their water. That evening, they were talking about Brexit, after a prelude of what the European Union entailed, when suddenly –

“Oh, hey, an ice cream parlor!” Steve stopped in front of a store with a bright red awning and a neon sign of a cone of ice cream plastered on its window. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”

“Are you sure?” Diana stuffed her hand deeper in her pocket, half-regretting the gloves she left at home this morning. It wasn't exactly ‘ice cream’ weather.

“It’s fine, we’ll eat inside.” He assured her. “Besides, I haven’t had it since… gosh, it must’ve been 100 years, give or take.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. But the tugs on the corner of her lips –that, and the fact that she went in when he opened the door for her, wasn't much of an indication for annoyance.

They went up to the counter and Steve was immediately drawn to the plethora of ice cream flavors behind the display glass. There were so many of them; _way_ more than all the food he’d ever tried in the world. There swirls and stripes of flavors and named with words he vaguely recognized. He hardly registered the exchange between Diana and the old shopkeeper until he felt her hand on the small of his back.

“Which one would you like?” She asked.

Steve blinked and gaped like a deer in the fucking headlight. Maybe if he just looked at all of them, one would magically stand out.

The shopkeeper, a stout old man, glanced back and forth at the man who went speechless over frozen dessert and the woman who flashed a patient smile at him.

“Um. I don’t know. Gosh,” he laughed nervously. Then, he threw his arms up, “You know what? Surprise me.”

Her eyebrows shot up and he sensed mischief coming his way. “Are you sure?”

He should have backed out. He really should. In addition to her witty remarks, he quickly learned that she’d acquired an affinity for practical jokes in his absence. It was kind of freaky and fucking _terrifying._

But God, if he were to go down, might as well go down in her glory, right?

“Oh, what the hell...” He relented finally.

Diana picked out three flavors for him; one of which was a kind of chocolate (That much he knew), another one he’d never heard of, and the other was downright questionable for an ice cream. For herself, she opted for… something to do with coffee, another with honey, and he was pretty sure the other one had bourbon in it.

They settled on a table by the window. Their coats and scarves draped on the back of their chairs, a warm cushion from the chilly metal material. Diana sat opposite him, occasionally stealing anticipating glances over her ice cream.

Steve took a curious look at the colorful scoops in his hand and tried the chocolate one first. It was a subtle kind of sweet, the kind that felt comforting, and it sat favorably on his taste buds. He’d always liked chocolate –it was a bit of rarity back then, so it felt like a really nice treat to find it everywhere now.

The green one had an earthy fragrant and he drew an assumption that it was some sort of tea. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. He approached it a tad more cautiously than the first one. It was definitely strange, but surprisingly pleasant indeed. It had a nice contrast with the chocolate.

The last one, however, seemed rather sketchy.

Diana looked at him expectantly. He eyed him back with blazing suspicion.

“This is not gonna end well for me, is it?” He leaned over.

“I’m not tricking you!” She said with a swat to his shoulder.

“I don’t know. You’ve changed a lot since I last saw you. For all I know,” he paused for dramatic effect, “You might be lying.”

She rolled her eyes playfully at him. “Shall I bring out the lasso?”

“It’s sea salt!”

“It’s _good._ ” She insisted, “Trust me.”

He squinted at her suspiciously, maintaining eye contact as he experimentally swiped his tongue across the arctic blue scoop. _Pause_ . He looked at it again. _Another lick._

“Well?” Diana drawled.

Steve mulled it over, brows knit so tightly. He tried to maintain the suspense by keeping the poker face for as long as he could muster. But one glance at Diana, and it was over. She knew it. He _lost._

“This is –wow. Sea salt-flavored ice cream! Whoever had the mind to come up with that?” He mused in amazement.

“Humankind has an indomitable creativity if they’re given the chance.”

A roll of giggle escaped Steve’s chilled throat. “Only you would wax poetic for humankind’s ability to create a tasty variety of ice cream flavors.”

“What's wrong with that?” She frowned.

“It's only ice cream,” Steve replied with a light shrug.

And just like that, he flipped a switch inside of her. “So? An invention is an invention. Humans have created a lot of things, both good and bad, and _this,_ ” Diana motioned at the cone in her hand, “Definitely counts as one of the good ones.”

Now, Steve had argued with Diana many times, and in said arguments, he'd heard a lot of batshit things coming out of her unapologetic mouth. This was one of the most sensible ones. He agreed with her on this, in fact, and he wouldn't mind saying that out loud. And, normally, he wouldn't have any trouble taking her seriously.

If it weren't for the cream line along her upper lip.

He was stifling his glee (quite unsuccessfully so), and that only set her off. “I'm serious! Why are you laughing?”

“You… have a bit of a, uh… ‘stache there,” Steve pointed out.

Diana licked up her lips and froze; she reached for a napkin from the dispenser and wiped her mouth with it faster than he could blink.

But she was too late.

Steve was already wheezing, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Oh, lord... Diana. Princess of Paradise Island, Daughter of Hippolyta, Queen of the Mighty Amazonian Warriors, and apparently, Demigoddess of Ice Cream.”

“Stop it!” she admonished him. He didn't budge; this called for drastic measures.

Steve’s laugh ceased when he felt creamy bourbon between his nose and mouth.

Thus commenced a full-fledged ice cream fight between the Amazonian warrior and her lover out of time. Well,as full-fledged as one could in a tiny ice cream parlor filled with children and innocent civilians. Fortunately, the only casualty was Diana’s honeycomb scoop that flopped onto the table in result of a particularly strong flick of her wrist and some glares from the other customers upon hearing the startling noise of friction between Steve’s chair scooting against the floor.

“Okay, okay…” Steve ceased his ministrations, wiping off the remaining ice cream from his nose with his index finger and licking it clean.

Diana uttered a hushed apology and quickly composed herself. She fixed her hair and sat up straight, like a child being chastised by her parents.

“Next time, we'll just buy this by the tub.” Diana announced.

“Mm-hm,” Steve promptly nodded in agreement.

_(That was a lie. The next time they had ice cream, they had the swirly one from the ice cream machine. Steve’s was so tall, it leaned like the tower of Pisa for a good two minutes before it toppled over to the ground._

_Diana laughed at him for three and offered to share hers._

_Steve ate the top half in one go.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, y'all! Thank you so much for all the kudos and bookmarks and comments. The responses have been AMAZING! Know that I love you all and this chapter's for you :D
> 
> The bookstore that Steve works at is very much based on Shakespeare & Company in Paris. But I took some artistic license to make it smaller (That place is packed as shit yo). And again, this is just a snippet of life in between saving the world from crazy monsters and evil geniuses. I've always been intrigued by what these people do in their 'downtime', so I let Diana have a little fun. God knows she deserves it lol
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy it! Lemme know if you do, don't, or just crying over this precious ship because chances are, I'll be here doing the same thing :P


	3. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This escalated into a more feels-induced chapter, you guys. What happened towards the end, please blame Rufus Wainwright's version "Hallelujah." Enjoy!

Diana was _late_. She all but tossed everything on haphazardly and grabbed the bottle of wine on her dining table before she dashed right out of her apartment. Sylvia, Steve’s boss, was throwing a small Christmas party and invited her along. _She’s curious about the elusive lady who successfully made a smitten fool out of me_ , he said over dinner one night. He made it very clear that he wouldn’t pressure her into going ( _I totally understand if you’d rather sit this one out_ ), but the idea of meeting Steve’s friends was rather fun. If it were anything like the first time, they wouldn’t be a boring bunch.

‘I would love to go, Steve,’ she said, grinning over her computer.

Except when the day of the party arrived, she was caught up with a master art thief who had a knack for clever schemes and use of “anglers” to escape the authority ( _Yes,_ Diana sighed,  _geometric angles)_. In Genoa.

Hence she was 45 minutes behind and standing outside the dark bookstore.

Steve was in the midst of conversation with Alex and his boyfriend Gaspar. He’d met him in passing a few times, but this was his first time actually getting acquainted with the Afro-French photographer, and he liked him a lot. He could see that Alex was besotted by him as well.

They were just telling him how they met (They were introduced by a mutual friend of a friend last fall), when Steve’s phone buzzed and chimed rhythmically in his pocket.

“Excuse me a second,” Steve smiled apologetically, moving away. He saw a picture of Diana flashing on the screen and immediately slid over the answering button, “Hello?”

“Hey. I’m outside.”

“Wonderful! I’ll be right down.”

It must’ve been his goofy smile or painfully chirpy tone. But something gave it away because Alex asked right away, “Is that Diana?”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna go get her downstairs.”

“You mean she’s _real?_ ” his colleague hollered jokingly. “I’ve always thought she was a figment of your imagination.”

“And now you’re about to meet her!” Steve quipped, matching his tone.

“Don’t be a dick!” Gaspar chided him with an affectionate pinch in the arm. Steve could see Alex pulling him into a kiss, and he tried not to stare. Instead, he made his way downstairs with a slight bounce in his steps.

Back in his time, an interracial couple was quite uncommon. A same-sex one, even more so. He knew a few men in the army who had relationships with other men. But they went through a lot of trouble keeping it a secret. It was unlawful back then. He remembered accidentally walking in on a fellow lieutenant with a clerk at the office; they _begged_ him to stay silent. Steve simply nodded and apologized for his intrusion. To see Alex and Gaspar now, so openly expressive of their relationship with no qualms about the colors of their skin, was a strange sight. One that he gladly welcomed.

But there was no sight Steve welcomed in that moment than Diana’s silhouette under the streetlight. As he strode closer towards the door, he could see her dark hair framing her face in her natural waves. Her crimson lips pulled into a dashing smile. Cold Parisian air be damned; he went out the door and encased her in a tight hug.

Diana let out a surprised laugh. “Hi,” she finally said.

There were sprinkles of snow in her hair, too.

“Hi,” he murmured into a kiss. “How are you feeling?”

She waggled her head side-to-side. “I’m okay.”

“And Angle Man?”

“Contained,” Diana answered, huffing out in relief.

“Good. You deserved a night off.” He offered his arm, “Shall we?”

She eagerly linked her arms with his.

He led her through the bookstore, which was just an apartment _stuffed_ to the brim with books, and through four flights of stairs into Sylvia’s apartment. There were mild chatters over Christmas-themed jazz music playing in the background. She could smell freshly baked pastries wafting in the air. It made her stomach growl, voicing her need for sustenance.

And the eyes darting towards her direction when she appeared at the door made a funny effect on her stomach, too.

A lady immediately came up to her. She was probably in her 70’s, but she was tall --almost as tall as Diana. She seemed rather robust for her age, too.

“Come on in, dear! You must be Diana. I’m Sylvia, it’s very nice to meet you,” she offered her hand, exuding the epitome of the world-famous Southern charm.

Diana shook it warmly. “It’s lovely to meet you, Sylvia. I, uh, brought this for you.” she presented her the bottle of wine she was carrying from home.

“Why, thank you!” She took the bottle and glanced at the label. “Oh, wow. This is a fantastic choice.”

Diana blushed. “Consider it an apology for my lateness.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Sylvia graciously dismissed it. “It’s hardly your fault. Steve told me your flight was delayed?”

“Yes. I flew in from Italy for an acquisition,” she replied smoothly. Steve was impressed by how unfazed she was at it. Lying wasn’t exactly her favorite thing to do, last time he checked. But then again, she wasn’t technically doing so, per se. She merely paraphrased _‘literally flying on her own after being held off solving riddles against an artifact-stealing maniac.’_

“Acquisition?”

“Paintings, sculptures, that sort of thing...” Diana trailed off. “I work at the Hellenic Arts department.”

“How fascinating!” Sylvia exclaimed. The sharp old lady led Diana by the arm to the breakfast bar, starting a new subtopic already.

Steve knew there was no interrupting Sylvia once she caught her attention on a subject she liked. Ancient Greek was definitely one of them.

 _So much for a night off_ , he chuckled to himself.

In the end, Diana ended up doing more socializing more than the last five galas she’d attended combined _._ She had such a magnetic presence that everyone seemed to be drawn to her, and she charmed the _heck_ out of every single one of them. Sylvia and her friends were all over her talking about mythologies and the literature surrounding them. She picked the brains of a Dr. Ella Franklin, an old friend of the family who taught Asian Diaspora at Birmingham University. She traded travel stories with Clarisse and Tomasz, grad students who frequent the bookstore’s writing workshop programs.

At some point in the evening, Alex came up to him with a serious look on his face. “I would kick Gaspar to the curb for Diana. No second thoughts.”

“I wouldn’t even be mad,” Gaspar lazily shrugged.

Steve couldn’t suppress his mirth and patted his friend fondly in the arm.

After the talking receded, came the dancing. They had pushed the sofas and tables in the living room aside, leaving a wide enough space for a little dance. Alex hooked his phone on the stereo and played DJ. Sylvia, the ultimate firecracker that she was, successfully coaxed Steve into dancing with her. With that, the rest followed and moved to the swing of brass band in the background.

It took three whole songs before Sylvia finally bowed out. “I need to catch a breath, young man,” she said, though they both knew what she implied. He’d been stealing glances at Diana, who’d been in deep conversation with Robert, the baker from next door, a glass of wine in her hand.

“Excuse me, Robert. Would you mind if I steal Diana for a moment?” Steve butted in.

Diana immediately caught his intention and tried to protest. “Steve --”

“Come on, dance with me,” he offered both his hands. “I love this song.”

“You know this song?” she quirked an eyebrow.

He made a face at her. “It’s Edith Piaf,” he replied incredulously. All the time he spent listening to the stuff Alex had picked out for him _finally_ came in handy.

Diana laughed, taking his hands and letting him guide her to the makeshift dance floor. She smiled apologetically at the grey-haired man, but if his hearty smile was any indication, he didn’t seem to mind it.

“Madame,” Steve bowed his head as he put his arm around her. What he didn’t expect was Diana leading the steps as they began dancing. _One-two-three, one-two-three…_

“I see you finally caught up with humankind’s way of dancing,” he grinned playfully.

“Turns out there’s more to it than just swaying.”

“Yeah? Like this?” He spun her out and she followed, quick as a flash. She was no longer awkward in her steps. Like the revolving doors, she moved with far more grace and conviction than ever before. It was light. Easy. But not overly sharp and dancer-like that it would catch more attention. He imagined she’d had enough for the night.

He dipped her just as the rhythmic guitar strums halted, leaving just the melodies fluttering towards the end. Diana leaned her head back, letting her back arch while Steve held her by the waist. She swiftly pulled herself upright, bringing their faces awfully close to each other.

The music faded into a slow ballad with a man singing accompanied only by a piano. They pulled each other closer and just _swayed._

“Well, this brings back memories,” Steve broke the silence, “The music, the dancing, the snow outside…”

Diana looked up at him smiling. Her hand rested on his chest, fingertips feeling the wool underneath. He wore a turtleneck similar to the one he had in Veld. One hundred years later, and they barely aged a day. He looked different, though. Better somehow. He no longer looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. _Peaceful at last._

But, still a hundred years had gone by, and a lot had changed since. Diana felt her smile grow wistful, and Steve felt the same dull ache in his chest, too.

“It’s funny, I… keep imagining they could be here. Somehow.” Steve cast a gaze around the room. “Sammy could be dancing there, the Chief drinking and talking to people  --”

Diana’s heart dropped as she felt his breath catch.

“Hell, this sounds like something Charlie would sing,” he quickly recovered with a small laugh.

While the 21st century was indeed a daunting change, grieving was ten times more difficult for Steve. It was certainly simpler on their part. Diana told him about the stories Sammy and Chief shared about their adventures and missions together. Charlie played the piano at his wake --he didn’t sing. Etta had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the ordeal. He couldn’t quite process how much he’d missed in his absence. The children, grandchildren, the medals of honors. The funerals.

And then there was Diana, who had lived through a dozen lifetimes knowing that he _died_ before his sudden appearance proved otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Diana took his face in her hand, “Hey, you’re here now. And I thank the gods everyday for this.”

Steve rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes as the singer crooned his hallelujahs. He said, “Me, too.”

_(Steve hated going to Sunday school as a kid. He stopped going to church when he moved out of home. He stopped believing in God altogether when the war broke out._

_But that night, when he moved inside of her, he whispered her name like a prayer. Over and over and over as he worshipped her with kisses. His touch pledged devotion to her very existence._

_In that moment, he felt gratitude for whatever higher power brought him back to_ this.

_To her.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! So it got a bit mellow in the end. I know, I know. I got a little carried away, and I hope it went alright.
> 
> 1) I'm not very familiar with Wonder Woman comics, but I read up about Angle Man, and he was as described in this fic. At least in the earlier version, if my memory serves me correctly.
> 
> 2) I loved what Patty Jenkins by throwing representations of so many people in the movie (Sameer as a POC aspiring actor, Chief being Native American, and the British Sikh soldiers walking around the city, to name a few.) It was small, but it really stuck with me. So in honor of that, I include an interracial gay couple because --well, why not?
> 
> 3) The songs I used as inspiration for Steve and Diana's dancing are Edith Piaf's "Plus bleu que tes yeux" and Rufus Wainwright's "Hallelujah." <3
> 
> 4) As you may have noticed, there was a blip of a smut scene in this chapter, and I'm kind of testing the waters with that. I'm considering to write a smutty scene for the last chapter. Yay or nay?
> 
> Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!


	4. What They Do When There Are No Wars To Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think Chris Pine in that Armani Code Colonia ad. You know, the "you stole my shirt" one ;)

When Steve blinked awake, the sky was still dark. He couldn't tell whether the tinge of orange outside the window was a reflection of the streetlights or the edge of dawn. But the air was exceptionally cool and if the warmth of loose limbs sprawled over him was anything to go by, he reckoned he had a bit more time to sleep.

He turned to face Diana, who was soundly sleeping by his side. Half of her face was buried into the pillow, and the other covered by wild jet black waves. This was the first time she’d had a full night’s sleep in weeks. There was a big exhibition coming up and of course, there was no such thing as taking a break from saving the world. Thus she worked all day and night and fought battles in between. She all but passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

He reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. She stirred at his touch, moving into it. When she opened her eyes, she was met with eyes as blue as the Themyscirian sea.

“Wow,” she drawled.

He chuckled, “Morning, angel.”

“Is it morning already?” she murmured sleepily.

With the fiery line against the dark blue sky, he replied, “We have time.”

“Good,” a lazy smile rose across Diana’s face as she snuggled closer into him, smoothing his unruly hair down. He'd been growing it out for the last couple of months. The strand of hair on his forehead flopped over his eyes and she pushed it back. Maybe it was the hair, or the fuzzy beard covering his jawline, or the lack of weariness on his face. But she liked this look on him. He looked at ease. Happy. And not to mention, strikingly handsome.

He took her wrist in his hand and kissed it.

She kissed his lips in return.

A long time ago, Steve told Diana of how life would be like when there’s no war. It took every fibre of his being to not allow himself to put this amazing, impossible warrior goddess in that picture. She couldn’t _possibly_ belong in a world so small and uneventful. But as they swayed awfully close to each other, her curious and gentle eyes locked on him, his mind betrayed him. It pained him to admit that the chances of them actually having that was nearly zero. _Of course it was never going to be real_. He maxed out on his lying, killing, and smuggling to deserve more than… well, none.

Steve was almost scared that this is another case of his mind playing tricks on him. But as they melted into each other, skin pressed flush against each other all warm and lazy and sloppy, he realized that this was a million times better than what his brain was capable of. This was real.

Her fingers absently traced the battle scar under his collarbone. She felt the deep line where a German soldier’s bayonet had gashed him, further into his chest where his heart raced, and lower down his stomach until his breath hitched at the feeling of her hand on his --

“Diana,” he whispered, lips breaking away from hers. As soon as they parted, he was already aching for her again. His hand disappeared into the roots of her dark tresses, the other treading down her every curve and corner. And his mouth of a sinner wanted nothing more than to draw silent hymns on her body.

He knelt before her, and like a servant to his Lord, professed his devotion to her in kisses. His mouth was wet with praise and he spelled out every letter on her neck, right where her pulse was drumming. His teeth grazed the valley of her bosom out of overwhelming need to taste her. The soft swell of his lips against the pebbled tops of her breasts sent crackling sparks down her spine.

And as he wandered down _there right there_ , Diana surrendered herself to him. His gentle tongue and nimble fingers guided her to the peak of pleasure of the flesh. When she got there, her senses were flooded with him, every nerve in her body seemed to be screaming his name.

“Steve…” Her voice came out a low broken moan. A desperate plea.

But one word was all it took. He understood. So when he finally entered her, it just felt _right._ A million miles and years away from home, and they found each other like this. Hips colliding. Fingernails on skin. Cock in cunt.

_Home._

The winds sighed as they moved in an off-beat rhythm, harmonizing with their moans and hushed curses. Diana pulled him in closer, _more,_ and he picked up the pace. She was close. He slipped a hand between them and began stroking the small nub on the apex of her thighs.

Her motions faltered, hips stuttering into him for another orgasm. Her kiss-laden lips parted, her eyelids fluttered closed at the bursting sensation in her core. She was easily the most beautiful woman Steve had ever seen. And as she convulsed erratically around him, his name escaped her once more.

Just like that, he came undone, buried deep in her.

She reached up to touch his face yet again, pulling him into a gentle kiss. “Hi,” she said nonsensically.

“Hi,” he pressed his lips onto her jaw, his index fingers tracing feather light trails up and down her arm.

He wanted to stay like this forever. Stay inside her in the warmth of their bed. Basking in the feel of her. Perpetually on the edge of sunrise. He felt himself being lulled back into pleasant slumber.

He couldn’t tell how long he’d fallen back asleep when a familiar sound of pitter pattering footsteps entered the room. The foot of their bed dipped slightly, and the next thing they knew, the latest inhabitant of the apartment had joined in.

“Scotty!” Diana squealed as the sandy-colored little creature jumped between them with a little bark.

Steve let out a hearty laugh as the young labrador slobbered on his face. They rescued him while they were driving home from the airport one evening. The poor thing was freezing, alone, and terrified in the middle of the road. He didn't even see him; Diana just slammed on the brake and bolted out of the car. The next thing he knew, he was cradling the scrawny pup close to his chest for warmth as Diana floored it to the nearest pet shop for supplies.

The little bugger never left their side since.

“Good morning, you little monster,” Steve cooed, stroking the soft fur under his ear.

He began to circle around the bed and nuzzle at Steve and Diana’s hands.

Diana was already shuffling out from under the duvet when Steve stopped her.

“I got it. You came in pretty late last night; go back to bed for a bit,” he sat up, reaching out for his discarded boxers.

She didn't argue. With a heavy slump, she landed back on the bed, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he quipped, planting a quick kiss on her lips.

With that sendoff, Steve hopped out of bed. What he didn’t notice was the metal cuffs lying haphazardly on the carpet. He accidentally stepped on it and bit back a yelp.

“What's wrong?” she asked, head craned up to see him.

“You are such a slob,” he rolled his eyes playfully, placing the offending pieces on the dressing table.

She smiled cheekily in response. “Sorry!”

Steve let out a melodramatic sigh as he exited their bedroom, Scotty eagerly following suit.

“Come on, Scotty, let's go potty,” he sing-songed.

The six-month-old canine padded behind him, and sprang free as soon as Steve opened the door to the small backyard. The sky was of a much lighter shade of azure now, though he could still see the moon in the distance.

Steve left him to it and sauntered off to the shower. He used Diana’s fruity-smelling shampoo and only fumbled a little in adjusting the water to just the right warmth --a major improvement since his first encounter with the digital shower interface. When he walked out of it, Diana was brushing her teeth on the sink.

“What are you doing up?” He inquired, poking at her side.

She mumbled a reply through the toothpaste and toothbrush resting on the corner of her mouth.

He was sure she said something cheesy, given the look in her eyes. The problem was her mouth was too full to be comprehensible, thus sounding like an incoherent weirdo. So instead, his reply was a monosyllabic and puzzled, “Huh?”

Diana took out the toothbrush and spat out the toothpaste foam. “The bed’s cold without you,” she repeated.

“God, so spiteful when you say it like that...” he teased her, which earned a tiny splash of water to the face.

She wiped her hand onto the towel wrapped around his waist. With a passing kiss on his shoulder, she took her turn into the glass cubicle. She had an affinity for walking around the flat naked, and while it wasn’t doing much favor for his concentration skills, he found it rather endearing. There’s that carefree Amazonian who was just so comfortable in her own skin.

Steve, on the other hand, wasn’t as self-assured. It wasn’t that he had any issue in particular; coming from a large family and years of living in communal spaces simply trained him for modesty. So he went to the wardrobe and fished out a white henley and dark jeans. He’d grown accustomed to the 21st century dailywear very quickly. It wasn't much difference from what he wore in the fields when he was young. It just wasn't frowned upon anymore to go out in it --which was awfully convenient.

He then went on to make some breakfast. Luckily, eggs, bacon, and toast didn't fall out of fashion during his absence because those foods kept him grounded during the worst of times. And there had been a number of occasions that called for comfort food. He was a man out of time, after all.

So he put the bread in the toaster, cracked the eggs into the pan, and set to frying the strips of pork. The whirrs of the automatic coffee machine and the pop of the toaster didn't faze him anymore.

He didn't hear Scotty come in, but hardly budged when he stood on two legs and tried to see what the fuss was about on the counter.

“Scotty, no.” he nudged him gently with his knee, “Get down.”

He whinied.

“You hungry, buddy?”

Scotty perked up, tail wagging wildly. The adorable ball of excitement panted with his tongue out as he waited for his food to be poured into the bowl. Over the course of the four months Scotty had been a part of their ‘family,’ he'd definitely had him wrapped around his little paw.

“Here you go,” the man knelt down to put down the dry food, chuckling at how he dug in.

“Family breakfast. I love it,” Diana remarked. She emerged from the bedroom all dressed up; peach-colored A-line dress, hair in a sleek ponytail, tab in hand.

“Good morning,” Steve greeted.

“Hello, my love,” she grazed the small of his back while passing him towards the coffee machine, setting up the plates and cups.

They ate in companionable silence as they went about their business. Diana was replying work emails on her tab, eyebrows knit together in concentration. Steve scrolled through the news while his other hand twirled around the fork.

It had been ten months, two weeks, and five days since Steve Trevor miraculously returned from the war. As they sat in their little dining table, he realized that the idyllic picture he painted her in Veld was a funny thing. This wasn’t exactly like how he imagined it. He was reading the paper through this strange device in his hand (and as he thought of that, he could hear Alex’s voice in his head saying _it’s a fucking phone, Steve_.) They weren’t married --although as far as promises to love, cherish, and honor each other went, they might as well be- and the only baby they had was a dog.

But it didn’t matter. He was thrust into a time and place very alien to his own. But he was having breakfast at home with the woman he loved before they’d go to work.

That was enough for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS! It's done!
> 
> I apologize for the long gap. I was on such a roll, but then Ied Al Fitr rolled around, so there was a lot of visiting and having family come over. By the time it was done, I had a little bit of difficulty picking up where I left off. But alas, here it is!
> 
> I've had such a blast writing this, and your responses have been so overwhelmingly wonderful. You constantly make my day, and keep me going (I feed on positive validations, fight me lol). So here's a little parting gift for you; the feels playlist I put together while writing it. Feel free to give it a listen below!  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/asharfina/playlist/2ecq8BzdDXVMSTv8ATFlgc
> 
>  
> 
> Until the next time!


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